When she hears the words brain tumor, her world begins to shut down.

This can't be happening. This isn't happening. She has her entire life ahead of her. She still wants to have kids, travel, win the fields medal. She has so much left to do.

So she just decides: she won't let it kill her. She won't let herself die.

As she's settling onto the couch that night (she can't go to bed, can't sleep - because if she sleeps she can't guarantee where her mind will go), she starts to think about Jake.

She thinks about the day she met him, in that stupid rundown bar when she'd stopped for gas in a small town and ended up staying for three years. The first time he'd flashed that dizzying smile at her, the first time he'd rolled his eyes at her and she'd realized he wasn't actually annoyed. The first time he'd said I love you.

Her mind starts to spin out, into deeper memories.

"I love you so much." She can't even see through the tears, but she doesn't need to - she'd memorized his face years ago.

"I know, love. I'll be back in a couple months, okay?"

"Goddammit, Jake, don't talk to me like I'm a child. You might not be back in a couple of months, you might not be back ever -"

"I had to enlist, Cassie! You know I had to -"

"No, you just did it because you wanted to run away, like you always do -"

"Cassie. Cassandra, darlin'. I love you. I love you. I love you."

She can't stop the crying, but she can press her face into his shoulder to muffle it a little.

"I love you."

She shouts it, when he's just at the gates to the plane. He turns back, and offers her that same smile she saw the very first time she'd ever seen him. She offers a weak smile back, and she focuses on numbers.

She glances down at the ring on her finger. Twists it, takes it off, slips it back on. How's she going to tell him?

"C'mon, Cassie, a little further."

"Can you just tell me what this is about, Jake? You know I hate surprises. Unless it involves a present - wait, is there a present?"

Jake laughs. "You'll see. But I promise, you'll like it."

Cassandra isn't exactly an outdoorsy person, and all this climbing through brush is more trekking than she ever wanted to do in her life. But Jake's here, and she trusts him. So she follows.

It's starting to get darker when the trees clear out.

"Finally." Cassandra breathes - and then the breath catches in her throat.

They're standing on a small clearing verging on a cliff that's looking out over the ocean. The sun is setting, its last rays sprinkling out over the shimmering waters.

Cassandra's mouth is stuck halfway open, her unable to move a single muscle.

Jake chuckles. "Never thought I'd see the day when you'd be speechless, darlin'."

She doesn't bother to reply to that - just alternates between gazing at him and the horizon in equal fascination. She's so lost in the latter that she doesn't even notice for a moment that Jake's gotten down on one knee.

When she does, her hands fly up to her face. "Jake -"

"Cassandra." He opens a small wooden box to reveal a beautiful white-gold ring inset with tiny diamonds. "Cassandra Cillian, light of my life, girl of my dreams, will you -"

"Yes." She blurts out before he's even finished, then bites her lip as Jake gently slips the ring onto her finger.

The ring is strange and new, but when he kisses her she fits into his embrace just like she always has. I love you, she thinks she'll write in her vows, because you always feel like home.

She remembers in vivid detail their wedding day, just three months before Jake enlisted. A year ago next Monday. God, what an anniversary present. Hey, honey, I'm dying.

She buries her head in her hands.

When his next letter comes in the mail, she doesn't read it.

She sets it on the counter, on the bookshelf, perched on the edge of the table - always moving it restlessly. She can't open it, because when she opens it she'll hear his voice and she'll break down and she'll tell him and she can't tell him. She's firm on this. He'll be back in two months, maybe three, and she'll tell him then. For now, he doesn't need to know. He doesn't need another thing distracting him when he's facing death every day.

Hey Cassie,

She closes the letter. She can do this. Slowly. One painstaking line at a time. She reads the opening line again, takes a deep breath, reads the rest of the letter.

I know the first thing you'll want to know is how things are going out here, the real version, so here it is: it sucks. Two guys I knew have already been blown to bits, and another one lost his leg and bled out before they could get a chopper in. I'm still in one piece though, don't worry, and I plan on staying that way. The squad is already sick of you, I talk about you so much - I still keep that picture of our wedding day with me all the time. Have I mentioned yet that I love you? Well, I love you. Just two more months, hey? And honey, I expect a full length letter on everything back home. Is Donna still cheating at her bridge game every week? Do the kids at school still love you? Of course they do, what am I saying. You got voted Teacher of the Year, what, three years in a row? They're all going to go onto the Ivy Leagues, and it'll all be because of you. How's that new math problem coming? I know it seems impossible, but sweetheart, you eat impossible for breakfast. I love you.

Jake

It's short. Too short. And yet by the end the ink is already seeping from her tears dripping onto it. She wipes them away, letting out an angry moan. What is she supposed to do? How is she supposed to tell him?

Dear Jake,

She isn't able to get any further. She focuses on the pen, but her hand won't move. Dear Jake, I have a brain tumor. Dear Jake, you married a time bomb. Dear Jake, I've been having these headaches that I keep thinking will kill me but they don't, not yet, and I'm a terrible person because every once in a while I wish they would.

She can't focus on anything anymore. She keeps showing up to her lessons without a plan, and ends up spouting gibberish that she's fairly certain none of her students can even slightly comprehend. The craziest things keep running through her mind - things like maybe I could just run away and never come back, and what would happen if I just never told Jake, ever?

She even considers sending him a Dear John letter once, but she dismisses the idea immediately. It would kill her, so much faster than the tumor, and she isn't selfless enough to do it.

Instead, she focuses on not sleeping. It's harder than you'd think, but she manages to drink enough caffeine to stay up late and get up early and she sometimes worries if this combined with her complete loss of appetite is healthy, but then she remembers, hey, I have a brain tumor. Besides, with sleeping comes dreaming and with dreaming comes Jake, and she can't think about him or else she's going to break.

Then one day, after a particularly vicious doctor's appointment, she grabs the pen and starts writing.

Dear Jake,

I miss you. I miss you so much every day, I can't stand it. And the headaches are getting worse. It feels like someone is lighting TNT in my brain, and last week old Donna called the ambulance because I passed out when I was helping her play bridge. Did you know I can smell, and taste, and see colors all at once now? It's overwhelming. But you - you still smell like pine trees. Now you just taste a little like whiskey, too.

She starts writing letters, every night when she's trying desperately not to sleep. She'll never send them, she could never, but it helps to get it out on paper. She can imagine him reading them, at least.

Dear Jake,

It's almost like I don't have to eat anymore. Sunsets taste like strawberries. Lampposts taste like walnuts (minus the allergic reaction). Multiples of four taste like those root beer flavored candy sticks you always buy in the old candy stores I always make us stop in. Oh, and you'll love this one - country music tastes like old cigarettes. I still love it, though. It reminds me of you.

Dear Jake,

Everything hurts. Everything hurts all of the time, and I can't tell anyone, and I'm scared. I'm scared because I don't want to die and I know it's going to hurt more and I'm scared of that. And I'm scared for you - because every day that I face death here, you're facing death over there.

Dear Jake,

I love you. I love you. I love you. And I miss you. But mostly I love you.

When she gets a definitive date that Jake's coming home, she laughs until she cries, and then she sobs so hard she can't stand. It's three weeks away, and she doesn't know how she'll be able to hide it any more. She goes to the doctor for the pain medication she's been refusing, and she stuffs it in a nameless bag in the back of the medicine cabinet. She'll tell him, she will, but just - not yet.

When he steps off the airplane, Cassandra can't wait for the crowd to disperse. She runs through, crashing into hard bodies but not caring. And then she's in his arms, and she's crying into his shoulder, and he's kissing her neck, and they're both saying incoherent things that sound vaguely like I love you and I missed you. (None of it sounds like I have a brain tumor. She should say it - but not right now. Right now, she just wants to hold him.)

That night, they crack open a bottle of red wine that's been sitting in the cupboard since she'd bought it on the night he'd left. She's snuggled into his side on the couch, and as she's leaning back to rest her head on his chest she thinks this is pretty close to perfect.

"So, sweetheart. How has your year been?"

Oh, you know - solved a few math equations, got diagnosed with a brain tumor.

"Well, it's definitely better now."

She can feel his smile even when she isn't looking at him. "Yeah?"

"Mmm, definitely. I mean, August really is the best month, isn't it?"

"Every month is the best month when you're here." He kisses the top of her head, and this time her smile isn't even forced.

Later that night, she wakes up at 3 am. Jake is sound asleep beside her, and she rolls over to drink in the image of him, here, before slipping out of bed and walking towards the kitchen. The headache that woke her up started bad and is getting worse, so she takes one of the painkillers and settles onto the couch to watch some old Leverage reruns. Of course, the one she randomly selects is the episode about a kid in need of a heart transplant. Her breathing is a little shallower through the episode, and not just from the headache.

When it finishes, she doesn't bother to go back to the menu, just lets it run through the credits. She wishes that her life could be like that - that someone could swoop in and whisk away all of her problems. Then, maybe, she could just enjoy Jake being home for the short two weeks, instead of spending her time warding off headaches and fighting to remain conscious, and ignoring the gnawing guilt of not telling him.

As it turns out, two weeks is a short amount of time. Before she even realizes it, Jake is kissing her goodbye, and she's watching him walk away.

"Wait!" She calls out, and he turns around to look at her. Jake, come back. Jake, I need to tell you something. Jake, I'm sick. "I love you!" She finishes, heart in her throat, and he mouths the words back at her before turning to leave.

Time stretches out. Days turn into weeks turn into months, and as it goes on everything gets worse. The doctor gave her a time limit now - three months. She has three months left to live, and Jake won't be back for four.

She calls her parents, for the first time in six years. There's a lot of crying, and she promises to call again. She doesn't tell them, either. She's spent so long not telling people, it feels impossible to change that.

This time, when she sits down with a pen and some old stationary, it's to write a letter he'll actually read - not for a while, though. Not for another three months.

Dear Jake,

You're going to be mad at me. And I know as you're reading that you're going to be thinking 'I won't', but trust me, you will.

I'm sick. I've been sick since right after you left, and I could've told you so many times but I didn't. See? You're mad.

I have a brain tumor. It's inoperable. I found out twenty-six days after you shipped out.

I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I love you. I'm sorry I couldn't say this in person, but I love you, and no matter what happens now, I'll love you after it.

I want you to be happy. And I know this is the ultimate shitty thing to say, when I'm the reason you won't be for a while, but I do. I want you to fall in love again. I want you to have kids, because you always wanted them and I didn't, not until I was 30. It seems stupid now, but I'm glad we didn't. Kids should grow up with two parents, not one and a shadow.

Remember that time when we had our first fight, and you ran out, and I was so mad I wouldn't let you back in for a week, so instead you slept out in Mrs. Mckee's apple orchard? I'm kind of a big fan of that memory (the making up part, at least). So could you bury me under those few apple trees that snuck over into the graveyard by the church? I know Reverend Meyers is stingy about how he arranges everything, but I think you can persuade him. No one can ever resist you. I definitely couldn't.

I love you. I love you. I'm sorry.

Cassandra

When it happens, she's at school. She's in front of her class, teaching her class about sinusoidal functions, when the headache of all headaches explodes inside her skull.

She falls to the ground, and she can hear students around her. Mrs. Stone, are you okay? Help! Somebody call an ambulance!

She can tell when the paramedics bring her into the ambulance, because she's suddenly surrounded by the smell of cloves. Apparently, her brain can recognize the hospital setting even when her eyes can't.

It hurts. It hurts like fireworks getting set off in her head, like somebody laced her nervous system with C-4. She's thought she was gone a couple of times before, but this is it, she knows, and she should be thinking some deep existential thoughts but all she can string together is ow and shit and someone please make it stop please please please.

She sees a light. She closes her eyes.